Tuntematon Sotilas (The Unknown Soldier)
by Valbonne
Summary: December 1939, at the start of the Russo-Finnish War: A young Finnish soldier reflects on his experience on the battlefield-and the vital lessons he has learnt from it-before his final moment. Historical Fiction.


watch?v=_2GFJpocLQw

**December 1939, Lake Ladoga, Ladoga Karelia, Finland**

_The forces rushed around him as he stood on the battle grounds. He hadn't asked to be in front position, but he'd had no say in the matter, and as such, he trembled in his shoes—well-equipped and well-prepared, but ill at ease as the adrenaline and trepidation swayed him with their heavy fists. His division operated under the man who called himself Lauri Tiainen, and trust was hardly something to be questioned by this point in time._

Hoarse moans escaped from between his dry lips as he moaned in excruciating pain. Beads of sweat rolled down the sides of his face, although the temperature had dropped drastically.

_Severely outnumbered, the Finns recalled their troops before the Red Army could demolish their numbers entirely, and the soldier felt secretly relieved. Rumours flew around that the Finnish commander was to be replaced, and soon enough, a certain Woldemar Hägglund was named for the position in the Finnish IV Army Corps. Not more than three days after, the Finnish Army pulled back once more to an area surrounding the river Kollaa._

"Ja… Kollaa… Does Kollaa still hold?...?" the faint words flitted into the air. The young soldier had scarcely gathered enough energy to attempt the question, and his body was soon racked with a heavy cough. His immune system was failing, and well he knew it. The infection from his wound had spread throughout his bloodstream, and it was only a matter of time before he would die: his breaths were ragged and shallow; and despite the winter season, his cheeks were flushed and his internal temperature dangerously high.

_Conditions were far from ideal, and ridges along the waterfront were the only form of protection offered by the terrain. The strength of the Soviets continually oppressed the Finnish forces, who were pushed back more than several times. With forty times as many artillery rounds fired on a daily basis, the Russians kept the Finns occupied. The din of war marred the otherwise serene landscape and painted its white blanket of snow with the crimson hue of human lives._

He could no longer tell if the horrid screams originated from his fellow patients, or if they erupted from his own mouth. All he was aware of was the dull throb across his entire body; it was all he had ever known since he fallen at Kollaa.

_Bullets whizzed past him, and he evaded them successfully as he aimed at the offence. But his mind soon wandered, and he began to wonder… What was it like, to have a family? To have a wife and children who awaited your return to home, who celebrated each small victory in battle knowing you had taken part, who cried when news of your death reached their ears?_

…_It must be horrendous._

"Ei!" the voice chided him, warning him against the dangers of sleep. If he rested for even a minute, there was chance enough he might never wake up. And the man moaned in agony as his lungs breathed daggers and the bloody stump that remained of his arm was jostled violently by his deep coughing. He could no longer feel his legs, and he knew he would never recover.

S_o thought the inexperienced soldier, who once more found himself toward the front of the Finnish line. If he perished in this godforsaken war, perhaps he would not be missed. Perhaps, his life would be of no value to anyone else, especially in the case that the Russians pulled through. Perhaps…_

_A pellet ripped through the air past him; and, just as abruptly, he found himself staring at the detached appendage on the ground, its index finger still tightly clutching at the trigger of the rifle._

_And then, the searing pain set in. He sank to his knees, praying his arm would preserve in the icy weather. But his hopes were dashed as the other soldiers swarmed around him, and he could only think fast enough to yank his weapon before his limb was lost from sight under the myriads of boots._

His eyes were scarcely open, and the sounds of the medical tent around him seemed eerily distant. Several questions faded in and out of earshot, asking for personal information. But the young man hadn't the strength to respond.

_This is where it ends. His blood spilt out viciously, and the ravenous white snow consumed and diffused the taint. He had no means to lift his rifle with a single hand; instead, he removed a boot to bash a Soviet in the head. As the enemy fell, both Russians and Finns alike trampled him until he was an unrecognisable heap._

_The Finnish soldier slipped off his second boot, his feet already perilously numb. And he crept up behind another Russian, but this time, he caught a glimpse of the man's face before he acted._

_Perhaps he was around the same age as the young Finn—there were striking similarities in their facial expressions. The physical strain and the naïveté was written in his downturned mouth, the emotional strain and the longing for home in his curious blue eyes. His life had long been stripped of its childish innocence, but under the pretense of courage nested a genuine fear for his mortality._

_His face soon turned to convey his alarm as the injured Finn thrust a heavy boot into his head, fracturing the cranium with its lethal metal spikes._

His fingers grasped in vain at the void by his right shoulder, only to feel the cold metal surface of the table beneath him. Well he knew that the medical ward had yet to identify him, and well he knew that he would not be missed.

_What have I done…?_

He was naught but a prisoner of his own battered body, now a dysfunctional shell in which his spirit cowered. And in this shell, he counted down the seconds.

_He could have been me. A Soviet, yes, but a soldier nonetheless. He could have been young, newly trained, aspiring to greater feats than this despicable field of killing._

_Or…_

…_he may still have had a family who cared about him, who fretted over his safety, who prayed every night for his safe return._

_And I've reduced him to another unknown soldier._

_Like myself._

He laughed a bit dryly at the irony of the situation, but soon fell into another fit of coughing.

Once he had regained his breath a bit, he forced his uncooperative eyelids slightly farther open. "Does Kollaa still hold...?"

_Fragmented pieces of memories floated through his dim mind—softly but coldly, and not dissimilar to the flurries of snow that had fallen on the day he had defended at Kollaa._

_And what was the meaning of it all? Death and destruction? Nay; fighting for one's homeland, to bring honour and victory, was the ultimate reward. But, if it failed? If the land succumbed to enemy forces, if the people were enslaved as hostages and made to work their own lands for their captors… And then, what? Was this the meaning of war?_

A blurred face wavered in and out of view. "Kyllä," it seemed to say faintly, the affirmative as remote as a lost dream. "Kollaa kestää." _Kollaa holds._

_Perhaps not… but to an unknown soldier with naught to lose but his land, it meant the world._

And Tino Väinämöinen closed his eyes, knowing his sacrifice had not been in vain.

* * *

**AN: **I am well aware of the fact that nations technically _aren't_ supposed to die, but I wanted to write with a different perspective on war. I wanted to convey the intense vulnerability and mortality a soldier feels, and I chose to use Finland. The Soviet soldier mentioned in this story was actually a personification of Russia—Ivan Braginski. What is lacking in some aspects of how the Hetalia nations are usually represented is the fact that they not only stand for their land—but also, their people. And here, I attempted to portray the two characters as representative of their people on the battlefront… to show that there is much more to a nation than simply winning or losing a war.

"Kollaa kestää" is a Finnish saying that means "Kollaa withstands" or "Kollaa holds"-by the end of the Winter War, Kollaa was still holding out, and the Finns won. The Battle of Kollaa lasted from nearly the start of the war all the way until the end.

Also, the title of this story, _Tuntematon Sotilas_, comes from the name of the song whose YouTube link I posted (Tuntematon Potilas). It is a Finnish song by Arttu Wiskari about an "unknown patient," while my story was about a soldier (who happens to also be a patient)... Thanks **Blackish Cat** for the correction!

For Finnish speakers: please tell me if I've mistranslated anything, or if "Kestääkö Kollaa?" is a grammatically legitimate question! Kiitos~  
Thank you **Teruya** for your input... I have no idea xD I was trying to form a question (and, as **Blackish Cat **pointed out, I forgot the rule about ko/kö anyhow) and ask if Kollaa still withstood the attack from the Soviets. ^^" Sorry for any confusion; I've put it in English, as my Finnish skills are *very* basic.


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